


The King's Human

by susiephalange



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Adorable Baby Elves, Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Female!Reader - Freeform, Fire, Fluff, Happy Ending, Post-Hobbit, Scribe!Reader, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole, half human half elven baby actually, human!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6907243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scribe on loan from Lord Elrond accidently makes their way into the presence and heart of King Thranduil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of The Scribes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ManicxPixiexDreamGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManicxPixiexDreamGirl/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For so long, he has worked day and night for the good of his people in the Woodlands, and one night, sights are scholarly maiden who steals his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I love Thranduil because of Lee Pace, or Lee Pace because of Thranduil...

There was no sound in the night. No whisper of wind. No hiss of rain. No owl fluttering to its home. The silence was not unnerving though - to Thranduil, King of Mirkwood and elves of the Woodland Realm, it was a support and listening ear, peaceful. Beautiful.

Ever since the passing of his wife and Legolas' mother, he had found it increasingly harder to use his heart to guide him in anything. Though it had been many centuries, he still kept away from the petty little love-craving games of a childish elf he had once been many, many years ago.

With that behaviour, it left his only his son feeling estranged, his council advised him to take time from the throne to find the correct headspace to recover - he, the king, taking time off? Preposterous! - his people needed answers with the turmoil rising in the -

"My lord, King Thranduil," a small voice squeaked from behind him. "I am so sorry, I thought the room empty, I should leave -,"

"Wait," He halted the patter of footsteps before they echoed from earshot. Turning his head slowly, he took in the figure which had interrupted his moody musing with clumsy words.

You were small, well, shorter than he was, with (h/l) (h/c) hair braided intricately like the elves, with gorgeous wide (e/c) eyes that stared back unblinkingly to him ... and as his own eyes found your ears, that hair was tucked behind, he was surprised; you were human.

But that wasn't the only thing which caught him off-guard; it were for the fact that, if you had been elven, could've been a mirror image of his late wife.

"Pardon for my directness, Lady..." He frowned. He didn't know your name.

"I am Miss ______, I'm not a proper titled lady, your majesty," you blushed a brilliant red like most humans do. It was all Thranduil could do but keep silent. Such emotions puzzled him; human expression wasn't one of his strengths.

"Miss _______, what are you, a human doing in my realm?" He questioned, doing his best to not sound disdainful at your race. He didn't have grudges against Men ... well, not as great as dwarves. The race of Men were greedy and vain. He didn't understand why Lord Elrond had any patience for the small boy in his own court, Aragorn.

You bowed low into a long feminine curtsy that seemed unnatural for your rank and replied, "I am sorry my King Thranduil, for my impeding presence, but I have been here for two moons passed, sent by Lord Elrond of Rivendell for -,"

He shook his head, interrupting your words just like yours had broken his revere. "Yes, yes, I know, I was expecting a ________ of Rivendell. Now I know Lord Elrond has dalliances with humans I know..." He turned completely from his throne and smiled, "You must be her."

You blushed. "I really shouldn't be in here wasting your time with my airy words, your majesty,"

The King of Mirkwood shrugged, "Do go on, Lady _______; I have none other to hear but yours and an empty room."

You cleared your voice, "I am - was, now - a lowly scribe for Lord Elrond, who was merely tasked to translate the common tongue to Elvish -," you blushed a deeper red, "It is a boring job, my king, are you sure you wish to hear of it?"

He moved his head to the left, and cocked an eyebrow, "No, you it is not, Lady _______," he smiled slightly, inviting you back to him to continue the conversing, "A truly boorish job would be being king with no wars to lead, no problems to fix."

"Would - would that you, my king?" You questioned quietly. "Are you tiring?"

If you had seen the flash of sadness that had come to his face as quickly as it had gone, you did not remark on it. Of course the tired king was he. Thranduil saw it that if he couldn't be with the one he truly loved, his late wife, then no place would be warm without her.

He noticed your silence, and inquired, "What use would a scribe be at my council from Elrond?"

He watched as you stood taller almost and brushed your hair from laying on your shoulders, "The Mirkwood council's documentation is all written in Elvish, my Lor-King," you stuttered, tripping over your verbal mistake, "It has come to the best interest from the ambassadors of Rohan and Gondor that all documents regarding issues for their lands and politics be translated and copied for their uses to their languages."

Thranduil stiffened. He did not think it to the best interest of anyone in the whole of Middle Earth, be it the Steward of Gondor or a single lowly wench of Bree to have business with the elves of Mirkwood. He supposed then that the commonly used phrase was right. Elves were a secretive kind.

"What need does the race of Men have for words, old issues from the Elves?" He noticed his stressed tone caused you to shrink slightly. Lowering his voice, Thranduil continued, "Is this comforting for their lords and stewards to possess the documents?"

You shrugged, then hastily added, to make sure you didn't seem to be an unworthy candidate for his council, "To some, what you have said should be the reasonable answer, My K-,"

"Lady _______, there is no need to address me that way, my name would suffice," he interrupted your terrifically boring speech that he wasn't listening to for the politics but the sound of your voice.

He couldn't get over the fact you looked so much like her.

"Yes, Thranduil," you bobbed your head. He watched as your internal cogs turned and as your mouth gaped, he answered your questions before it had been spoken.

"I apologise for elongating the boorish subject, Lady _______, but it would seem you are a better distraction from silence of an empty room than rouge thoughts."

You nodded, and quietly, you added, "I heard from whispers that you and your son have experienced losses, King Thranduil," you murmured, "I know it is hard, I have the mortality, have seen others loose theirs to war. Just know I am here to aid you in your mourning."

He could not speak. Once again, if you had the mark of the elves on you, he would have thought all of you were his late wife, even your speech.

"I understand, Lady _______." He agreed gravely.

You laughed. "But I have told you, your majesty, I am no lady."

Turning away to conceal his recently uncharacteristic smile, Thranduil disagreed. "No, I declare you to be a Lady from now onwards, Lady _______ of the Scribes."

"Er -," he heard you stutter. "Thank you, Thranduil..." under your breath he swore he heard you try it out. "I must return to my books..."

When your footsteps faded away, Thranduil's smile widened. He was glad he had stopped the intruder to his revere before they had gone. He couldn't wait until seeing you again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh-golly I do love fluff,


	2. Of The Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A disaster befalls you before Thranduil has a chance to reveal personal emotions to you.

He had waited graciously for a week. And then two. He had attended to much more buisness than what needed his attention. He kept himself awake most nights thinking of how his late wife was so much like the newly named Lady ______ of the Scribes. Held herself like her. Was as shy as she had been when they had first courted. How she looked like her. Talked like her.

"My lord?" he was roused by a servant.

He must have fallen asleep at his desk once more. Internally, Thranduil scolded himself, but remembered why he had been there. He had been studying the culture of Man. Not as he had seen it over his many years, but by a tome that had come with Lady _____ when she had arrived at Mirkwood.

"Yes?" He mumbled, wiping a bleary eye. The servant didn't make a move at all. "Well? What is it?" He frowned.

"It's -," the servant swallowed, "It is Lady _______. She -,"

He stood quickly, losing the grace that being an elf came naturally in his movement. "What of _______ of the Scribes?" He inquired.

The servant blushed, having trouble finding words. "There has been an incident in the library, your majesty," he paused, "She's been -,"

Thranduil pushed past the servant, each step bounding through the path to the door, the hallways toward the library. What had happened? What incident had occurred that he, the King of this godforsaken castle and wood hadn't been notified for? In no time it seemed, a sleep-rumpled Thranduil was down by the entrance, flabbergasted.

Ashes.

Torn covers.

Destroyed books. Ancient knowledge. Lost.

"My king!" He turned to see a male elf, arms full of dusty tomes, saved from the disaster. He must have noticed the blank expression on Thranduil's face, and added, "I can only guess you know nothing of what has happened here."

He nodded.

"This rebel happened, my king," he turned to see the red haired captain of the guard, Tauriel, and his son, Legolas, holding an infuriated elf. "He lit the fire, with the intention that the emissary Lady _______-,"

"Mirkwood is a place for the elvish, not human filth! She is nothing but a leaf; she will not live like us, the tree!" The arsonist protested. "Leaves die, trees prevail."

"Do not speak in that manner to your king!" Legolas growled.

The arsonist grinned. "She is human, my king; if we are stars, they are candles, and if you are not careful, she'll go out."

Outraged, Thranduil motioned for his son and Tauriel to take the elf away, turning his head away to attempt to not hear the protests.

He turned to the elf who had had his arms full of saved literature, and inquired levelly, "Would Lady ______ have been taken to the infirmary?"

The elf nodded, "She would. The last I saw of her, my king, she was badly injured." He went to bow respectfully, but paused, adding, "I do not know if the healers would allow you in."

"Thank you," he told the male elf, "and may the stars shine brightly tonight so that many of these ancient tomes have survived." He bid him.

"And may the moon see it that Lady ______ of the Scribes is safe, my king," he bowed.

 

 

He worried. He fretted. He fretted about the frown he worried with. And then he was unsure of whether the stress-induced frown marks he had just furrowed into his brow were to be permanent.

How has a simple human woman done this to me? He deliberated, pacing outside door for the infirmary, aware the healers were quickly working to save ______.

The elf who caused the fire was right, we are starlight, long and eternal. And humans are like little candle flames. He took a deep breath and glanced from the hallway to the window that looked out over all of Mirkwood. But that does not mean her fire is any less precious than an elves.

"My king?"

He turned sharply.

Two healers in the simple robes of stood there, the elves with their heads bowed respectfully. The female elf stepped forward and gestured to the infirmary. "Lady ______ of the Scribes has been incredibly strong, my king. Such a traumatic experience like the one she experienced would harm an elf, but she, my king...she -,"

The male healer stepped forward to continue her speech, "Lady _____ will have scars of today, but because of how her human skin's dynamics, we were able to work it quickly."

"Will she be alright?" He asked them.

There was no hesitation. "She will recover, my king, she is tired, spent by her attempt to save the books."

"But you may see her, if you wish," the female elf bowed, "I believe she wishes to see you also."

"Thank you," he bid them, and moved past to enter the healing chamber, anxious of what he had allowed his precious scribe to become by his lack of security.

There she lay. Almost too still, like she were deep asleep or dead. All that moved under the thin blanket was her chest, softly, rising and falling rhythmically, giving an illusion of peace to her inert form. Thranduil moved to the chair beside her bed, watching her with sorrow-filled eyes.

He had allowed her to be hurt by his lack of attention.

Why has a human have such of a hold over you? He wondered internally. You've not known her long enough for these emotions. She's -

His thoughts were interrupted by a shaky exhale.

"My King, I wasn't aware I was important enough for a visit," her words broke the ice in the air. Glancing up, he saw her head had turned toward him, those (e/c) eyes on him like a wild deer in the forest. "I jest, my lord, I don't mean to be rude as to your presence," she blushed, "or lack thereof. I -,"

"I'm glad you're safe," he managed to say. The words she was about to speak died on her lips. "I came as soon as I heard, and I wish to give you the largest and most sincere of apologies because of my lack of attention. I -,"

"You're a busy man, I mean, elf," she corrected herself, "and I should have been more careful. I would have left the library, but I was trapped. The flames were all around me." She went to move, but winced.

"________, take care, you are injured," he laid a hand on her cheek, staring into her eyes.

"I know," she breathed, and after a pause, whispered, "I used to like fire, my King, but now, I never wish to see it again."

Thranduil nodded. He felt the same way after Smaug had maimed him.

"It's okay, _____, you are safe now. I have dealt with the arsonist, and you must heal. I understand if you wish to return to your land, you may; nobody wishes to stay in the place they were harmed -,"

She tittered. He'd never heard such a laugh as that, but he had, and it was from her.

"What is so amusing?" He inquired.

"The notion, my king, that I could leave you." She smiled softly. "For I feel an emotion for you so strange."

"Call me Thranduil," he reminded her once more.

All she did then was widen her smile, one of the things he loved the most about her, one of the many things, "I love you, Thranduil."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of writing another chapter for this, it should be up in a week or two!


	3. Of The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years later, and life goes on for Thranduil and his human...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's been almost a year since I posted this? Anyways, here's the official ending!

In the mornings, there is nothing but the noises of the forest and the birdsong to wake the royalty that lies tucked in their beds. It was only a few mere years later – a blind of the eye for King Thranduil – yet in these years, he has made more of himself than he has been for all of those which had wasted away after the death of his previous wife. He has aided in the Battle of the Five Armies, his own militia defeated the spiders, his son off to explore the world of man on a quest to rid Middle Earth of evil once more, and beside him, something much more precious than the rest of the goings on that happen around him.

Beside him, in the silk sheets of the royal bed, is the woman who happened upon him by accident, who rose into his closed off heart like there had been no gates, no guards, who had taken him by storm. Elves, by nature, were slow creatures; they had the rest of eternity for their longevity to keep them going. A cup of tea could take hours to finish, childhood span decades.

But Thranduil, gazing upon his wife, the first human Queen of Mirkwood, saw eternity within her breaths, saw a cup of tea that was finished before teatime ended, ferocity and sagacity that he’d never encountered in the wise elves who were sevenfold her age. He saw the lady who had the mind of a scholar, and the body of a goddess, the Valar forbid he be blasphemous for the comparison. He saw the Queen of Mirkwood who married him three years after he nursed her back to health, using the herbs and secrets of the elves to conceal the treacherous burns. They both had their wounds hidden, both touched by fire that could have consumed them. But Thranduil knew, somewhere deep inside, that they were stronger than fire, stronger than the light of the stars.

She stirred in the sheets. There was wailing from the room adjacent to theirs, something which Thranduil could not help but smile at the sound of. Slowly, reaching from the bed, he left his love, the warmth in his heart to depart the bed, to make way to where the noise was coming from.

Behind a curtain of hanging moss, decorated with the clear stones from the river, was a cot, wherein a little elven babe was red-faced in bouts of cries. Where his wife was the first human queen, his second child was the first royal half-blood of the races. His little Elbereth had his hair, and your eyes, and those little eyes he had fallen for in her mother stared at him with pleading and such a sadness that couldn’t be denied. The little princess reached her hands up, asking without words to be closer to her father, to another beating heart.

With a smile, he gathered his daughter into his arms, placing her head upon his shoulder. The days when he had done this to his son, his firstborn was not lost to Thranduil, remembering well enough how to keep a baby still, sleeping and the mother the same. Instead of feeling saddened by these memories, he smiled, looking to the small child in his arms, thinking of how his years passed from the tragedy had led him to this moment, where he was the luckiest elven man in all the forest, and sat down in the chair by the window.

It had only been five months since he had aided his wife in the birth of their daughter, done his best to care for a human pregnancy (which, his own experiences did not prepare him for), for the child which attached herself to his heart like ________ had. Word had come that his son was returning home today, having aided the war against Sauron and the evil ring as nobly as he always attended to tasks. Thranduil gazed to his child, who, having been close to her father and soaking in his warmth and love, had fallen asleep on his chest, and could not fathom what his eldest would think of his new sibling.

“Thranduil?” His chest ached, hearing your voice in the morning. Your groggy, half-asleep lilt that sounded more like a spell than words. It was a side of you he was so happy to see, something he’d denied himself for, for so long before admitting his feelings, something the courts and all the elves in his domain had no chance to see. “Thranduil, where are you?”

He made a noise, low in his throat, and before long, he saw you barefoot, walking through the curtain, hair mussed from the tangling fingers of sleep, a small smile growing upon your face. “What are you doing awake so early, I tried to leave you well.” He protested, going to stand as if to usher you back to the bed.

“I woke as you left,” you whisper, so not to disturb your daughter as she lays in her father’s arms. “It’s not the same being without you. I’m not sure how I lived all the years without you,” you muse, gently running a hand over the blonde hair upon your child’s head. “I think I should ask you, why are you awake so early, my King?”

Thranduil raises his head to meet your gaze, to challenge the stare of your (e/c) eyes that bear justice in the courts and warmth into his very soul, and like all the times he has challenged you, he concedes your win. “The calls of a child never leave the ears of a father,” he replies, moving as to truly get up this time. “I should say you are married to a very adeptly skilled man in these matters, my Queen.”

You smile, holding your arms out to take Elbereth from his. “You have much to undergo for the welcoming of Legolas, and for court this morn, and the preparation of the ceremony of the stars, and –,”

Thranduil interrupted her with a quick kiss, passing their child between arms. “I shall be on my way, then, my love,” he quirked a brow at her playfully, and at this, swept off to attend to his duties as she had reminded her.

 

 

 

It isn’t until later when Thranduil has welcome his son and finished at the court when he walks into the gardens – call it a moment to spare, or a breath of air to take in – when he sees his wife, sitting on a stool, her fantastical dress covering the bump which had carried his daughter into the world of Middle Earth, watching his son at her side, playing with little Elbereth’s fingers, tickling her beside her curved ears.

Curious, Thranduil approaches, his robes swaying behind him in motion, answering the song of the breeze and swirling around his feet. As he approaches, his family greet him with wide smiles; his _______ beaming like she has basked in the light of the gods in his presence, his son, as if he has seen the darkness incarnate, and his father is ridding the stench of it from his soul, and his daughter, cheerful as ever, loving her _ada._

This was just that – his family. And he was the luckiest elven man in all the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: _ada_ is Elvish for _father_
> 
> Don't you just love it when *clenches fist* fictional characters get happy endings?

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


End file.
